She snorted ruefully. It had finally come down to this, planning her life as a thief.
In the end, it was the idea that she might be able to follow the campers back out of the woods that decided her. She would take a quick look and then hide half a mile back and follow them out. Part of her thought it was probably an epically bad plan, but it was overruled by the fact that it was the only plan she had.
She wiped her dusty hands down her tunic and went to check on Penelope. The big mare bumped her with her nose, snuffling her pockets hopefully.
“Sorry, beautiful, there’s nothing there.” Penelope huffed as Lucilla patted her gently. “Come on, let’s go see what that fire is all about.”
Penelope whickered softly as Lucilla untied her and led her carefully through the dark in the direction she’d memorized.
She picked her way down narrow paths, trying not to stumble into roots and hollows. Time seemed to move especially slowly in the dark, and it felt like they’d been walking for ages when she started to hear voices. Men. Talking and laughing.
She slunk closer, until she could almost make out their words, and then tied Penelope to a tree, leaving her satchel slung over a low branch. She wanted the mare far enough away that the men wouldn’t hear her but close enough to reach easily.
Dropping down into a crouch, she crept silently through the woods.
A campsite slowly came into view and she quietly lowered herself onto her knees behind a large, twining bramble, making sure to stay well in the shadows. Carefully avoiding the thorns, she peered around it.
Two canvas tents were pitched in a small clearing, horses hobbled nearby. Between them a small fire crackled and hissed, throwing warm, amber light up onto the surrounding trees.
Two men, dressed in leathers and carrying an array of weapons strapped to their backs and legs, sat on logs beside the fire. Neither wore the blue tunics of her guards or any other military uniform that she recognized. There were no skins or carcasses, so probably not hunters. And they were too well armed anyway. Mercenaries, maybe?
One of the men was a huge Apollyon, marked with their people’s swirling red-and-black tattoos. The other was less brawny but seemed no less powerful. He was leaning forward, resting his elbows on his long legs, his shirt stretched tight across his broad back, while his rolled-up sleeves showed heavily muscled forearms circled in bands of glittering burgundy-and-gold scales. His hair was a dark blond that gleamed almost caramel in the flickering light, and when he turned his head, she could see a firm, unshaven jaw.
She had never seen anyone like him.
Oh, she knew she was looking at a Tarasque warrior. One of the ancient and most primal races, deeply connected to his inner beast. Prone to bloodlust in battle, savage when riled. But she had never met one before—her brother, like her father, surrounded himself with Apollyon only—and he was magnificent.
Something was roasting over the fire, and it smelled rich and delicious. Her hunger roared back to life in a wave of desperation, fierce enough to distract her from the Tarasque warrior she had been staring at, and her stomach rumbled painfully as she dragged her attention back to focus on the conversation.
“I’m telling you, she’s near here,” the Tarasque man was saying. “Those assholes have no idea what they’re doing.”
Lucilla cringed back. They were looking for someone. A woman. Gods.
The big Apollyon gave a rough snort. “I agree. But just because they’re bloody useless doesn’t mean she’s here.”
“It makes sense to look here,” the first man argued. “Remember when I bet you that I knew exactly where we would find Nim? You still owe me ten groats for that, because I was right. And I’m right again.”
The Apollyon laughed. “You bet us you could catch her, but as far as I remember, that was all Tristan.”
Lucilla felt a wave of icy dread rippling up her spine. Gods, these men hunted women and then joked about it.
The Tarasque was still speaking. “I scouted down from the manor. If she went out the back, then she would have hit the stream first. She’s rich, so she’s got a horse, right, and she knows they’ve got dogs, so she would have kept the horse in the river as long as possible. Then, when they hit the rapids, she was already going south. Wouldn’t make sense to turn around. Let’s assume she’s pushing pretty hard for a woman who’s never done anything for herself in her life, but she’s taking breaks for rests and when it’s dark.” He looked across to the Apollyon. “Double or nothing on the ten groats you owe me, she’s around here. Somewhere close.”
They were talking abouther. Huntingher.
Cold sweat broke out down her back as she started to crawl over the mud and leaves of the forest floor, back toward Penelope. She should have run the second she’d seen their fire.
Fuck.
“Hey, Tor, I think it’s time for us to check the horses,” she heard the Tarasque man say somewhere behind her. Thank the gods, he was going in the opposite direction.
The Apollyon didn’t reply, or if he did, she couldn’t hear him over the pounding of her heart, the rough gasp of her frantic breaths. She pushed herself into a crouch and started to run over the uneven ground.
She was nearly there. She just had to reach Penelope.
Brambles caught in her cloak, and she tugged at them, ripping her hands on the thorns as she fought to free herself in the darkness. She whimpered under her breath in desperation as she gave a last brutal tug and ripped her cloak free.
She stumbled on a tree root and almost fell, but righted herself and kept going, heart in her mouth, acid burning in her throat.
